


Silence

by whatacartouchebag



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, because they've been doing this for A While, they dance around the topic of semblances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: There was only so much they could both do with the field supplies they had.The rest was up to Clover's aura.No, he wasangry.***A kiss prompt from tumblr: Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> More kiss prompts from tumblr! And if I took some liberties with the last prompt, I _certainly_ took liberties with this one lmao ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Heaven holds a sense of wonder, and I wanted to believe  
> That I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides  
>  ~ Silence, Delerium

Qrow was irritated.

He tersely held his tongue, brow pinched in silent frustration as he sat on an empty dust crate in the back of their supply truck. His hands methodically turning over the simple bandage as he wound it gently about an offered arm. Clover stayed blessedly silent through his careful ministrations, simply feeling sore all over and trying to shake off the lingering ache at the back of his skull.

It wasn't every day he managed to catch a plummeting Teryx with his everything, and he was already looking forward to never repeating the experience.

The huntsman was _also_ looking forward to never having to sit with him like this ever again.

There was only so much they could both do with the field supplies they had.

The rest was up to Clover's aura.

Qrow allowed the faint hiss of breath to slip past his lips as he drew his hands away, letting them sit idly in his lap for a moment. Red eyes closed briefly as the feeling lingered in his chest, and he dug about in his jacket for his scroll.

No, he was _angry_.

“Well, your aura didn't take too much of a hit,” he ground out, dropping the device almost dismissively next to him. “Still mostly in the orange.”

Clover curled his fingers loosely, delicately testing the range of movement he had, and feeling somewhat better for hearing that. He reached for his discarded uniform shirt, pulling dark grey material over his head. He bit back the wince as he drew his arms up maybe  _slightly_ too fast and maybe a  _little_ too high. Hands smoothed down his chest, settling his shirt across the rest of the bandages wound about his chest.

“Lucky me, huh?” he breathed out, attempting to mask the reaction.

He failed miserably, as those red eyes narrowed at him.

“It was _reckless_.”

It was a hiss of a response, venomous and sharp.

Green eyes stared back at him carefully; the huntsman was blowing it somewhat out of proportion. Especially when he'd already seen him do far worse in the field. He  _was_ surprised at the level of anger that Qrow was displaying, and he raised brows at him as he leant back against metal once more.

“It got the job done,” he told him simply. “And we weren't to know there was a nest of Teryxes so close by.”

“We _would have_ if your intel team had done _their_ job,” came the terse response.

A sigh fell from Clover, his shoulders sinking with the action.

“Qrow-”

“Should've just waited for the other team to back us up-”

“Listen, this is nothing, I'll be fi-”

“ _Nothing?_ ”

The sharp word snapped between them and Clover could tell he'd just about rolled the live grenade between his feet. Whatever response he'd had on his tongue withered like a dying plant in the desert.

“You keep treating _all_ these kind of stunts like it's _nothing._ ”

Clover closed his mouth, feeling his jaw tighten.

Oh, his mind whispered bitterly. So that's where his anger was coming from.

“Do you have any idea how _stupid-_ ”

Qrow cut himself off with a frustrated growl, unable to even think straight for the haze in front of him. He got to his feet, turning away from the man as he ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was  _probably_ overreacting, but knowing he couldn't shake it. It burned through his veins, and the static hit his senses.

Over and over, his mind shot. Every single time.

The idiot would  _always_ find some way to place his entire fate in his semblance.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, letting fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose as he other settled upon his hip. Alright, so he was  _definitely_ overreacting if he was at the point where he didn't want to look at him, but he still couldn't find it within himself to take a step back from the frustration that skittered beneath his skin.

Silence hung in the air, like the world had dumped a heavy layer of snow upon them, blanketing the space between them. The only sounds that lingered were that of the engine as it rumbled beneath them. As if neither of them wanted to speak about the  _very_ large elephant in the truck.

He swallowed lightly, wanting to bring himself down from the anger that flared hot and vicious in his stomach. Knew he had to. He almost snorted, despite himself; it was no wonder which side of the family Yang got her temper from.

“I know.”

The soft breath from Clover slipped so delicately into the air, it was almost lost.

Qrow lowered his hand, letting it hang loose at his side. The angry furrow had fallen from his brow, but brows were still pinched in frustration. It was only as he released the heavy sigh from his chest that he felt shoulders slacken, and a trickle of that tension fell from him.

“And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

Red eyes closed once more, feeling the ache needle him deep within his chest at the implications. Of course he would. Clover would always willingly throw himself in harms way if it meant that no one else got hurt. One of these days, there was going to be a plan that would fail.

One of these days, luck would win out over skill.

And it wouldn't be Clover's.

Qrow heard the soft sounds of movement behind him, the quiet exhale of breath as tender areas were stretched and torn skin shifted under dressings. It was only as warmth circled him from behind, fingers threading into the hand at his side, that red eyes opened once more.

“That's _not_ what I wanted to hear...” he murmured as the operative held him gently.

Fingers squeezed gently within his.

“Kind of the opposite, in fact,” he added with a humourless huff.

Clover gave a quiet hum as he settled his chin atop a shoulder.

“The way I've always seen it... taking out the bigger threat first is _always_ going to be the priority. _And_ we managed to do so before things really got out of hand.” He felt that body tense in ready protest and he squeezed his hand again. “Qrow.”

The huntsman felt the words burning on his tongue, wanting desperately to fight him on it. Still, he sighed lightly through his nose, eyes settling on the truck wall before him. He knew how stubborn they both were, and fighting Clover simply for the sake of it would be moot. He gave himself a gentle count of six, eyes closing briefly as he relaxed within the man's hold.

“Come here,” Clover told him gently, pulling away lightly to get the huntsman to face him. He withdrew both his hands, settling them atop shoulders, regardless of how the movement tugged at skin and muscle. Qrow kept his gaze firmly away from the man's, and it took Clover tucking fingers under his chin to guide him back.

Qrow knew what he was going to see there, and it already haunted the ache in his chest. He could see how sore the operative was, how tired. He could see how Clover was trying his best to hide the fact that he simply  _hurt_ all over. He could tell the man was doing his damnedest not to worry the huntsman further, when Qrow himself knew he was the very reason for his state.

No matter what words he'd already spat out in anger at the man, he knew it was as far from the truth as it could be. Clover hadn't relied on his semblance at all; not when Qrow had been there fighting alongside him. His mind kept settling on the fight, and how all it had taken was a single,  _stupid_ misstep to leave him in this sorry shape.

How all it took was for him to slip upon the ice to-

“Hey, stay with me now.”

Clover's gentle words pulled him back from spiralling too far down his little rabbit hole, and Qrow could only blink back at him. The man knew him far too well to simply let him slip under the waves with nothing but his thoughts. Especially when those thoughts always lingered upon the darker edges of his already tenuous relationship with his semblance.

It wasn't their first dance to this particular song, after all.

“I. Am. _Fine_ ,” he told him, gentle yet firm, green eyes refusing to leave the huntsman's. “It's not the first time I've had to be patched up after a skirmish, and it certainly won't be the last. I'm a human first, huntsman second, semblance third.”

_That_ hit the mark, and Qrow ducked his gaze away, feeling his brow furrow.

“Or do I have to remind _you_ of the _many_ times that we've _both_ been on the receiving end of this kind of mission result?”

Red eyes closed briefly, knowing he was fighting the war of words more with himself, rather than the sound logic that Clover was providing. He glanced back up at the man's eyes, and lips parted for a reply, finding... he didn't even know where to start.

He knew whatever he said would be sorely countered. He knew it was a discussion they'd already had many times in the past. He knew his anger was baseless and without any real direction, and it was a fight he's had with  _himself_ so, so many times already.

He just knew anger was a better emotion than what he was  _truly_ feeling.

When he saw Clover go down, all but crushed into a snow drift by the bulk of the screaming Teryx, it was a wonder the huntsman himself hadn't become an immediate target for the burst of white-knuckled fear that tore through him.

Qrow reached up with one hand, curling about fingers at his shoulder and removing them gently. He did the same with the other one, feeling small bandaids under his fingertips as he brushed his own across the top of them.

“I know you're alright...” he breathed, more for himself, drawing his gaze down to that patched up hand and the swathe of bandages following up his arm.

Clover's hand reached up to rest gently against his cheek, and red eyes closed at the touch, letting the warmth reach more than his skin. He was still sorely tempted to fight him further on the issue, but it was a fight that would never be without end, he knew. It wasn't even an argument at this point; it was simply Qrow getting irritated at the hand life seemed to deal the both of them occasionally.

“Qrow...”

Red eyes lingered on the man's hand for a moment longer, drawing back up to his gaze, feeling his anger snuffed to that of a smouldering match head. Still hot and liable to burn, but just as quickly cooled and calmed. Leaving him feeling burnt out on the inside. Clover drew his hand away from that gentle hold to settle across the huntsman's side, thumb brushing along the line of his ribs.

“It's just another scratch. Nothing unlucky about it...”

Those eyes widened faintly, as if realising the gentle implications of those words, and after a handful of time, Qrow's expression softened. The quiet breath fell from him, and shoulders relaxed as the man's thumb continued to trace that angry red score they both knew lay beneath clothing.

After what seemed an age, Clover finally saw the gentle brush of a smile as it began to creep across the huntsman's lips, and the hand at his cheek lowered. It wouldn't be the last time they'd have this particular conversation, that much he knew. Not that he minded, really. Qrow was a man ruled by his heart, no matter what he said, and would always fight to see someone safe and sound.

Fingers reached down to cover Clover's hand, holding him there, warm and sure.

“S'pose I can't ask you to not do it again?”

The gentle tone caught the operative unawares, and he found the sombre spell that had taken hold of the two of them shatter. The soft snuffle of laughter spilled from him, and he shook his head lightly.

“Afraid we're at a bit of an impasse there,” he told him warmly. “You don't want it to be me, and I don't want it to be you. So. What now?”

Qrow's smile grew as he curled his fingers further about the hand at his side, drawing it up before them, and looking for all the world like he was fondly admiring his patch-up job on the man. He brought his other hand about it, and with a gentleness that almost made his heart ache, Clover found those fingers lifted as lips brushed gently to the back of them.

It took him by delicate surprise as he watched the huntsman place lingering kisses to the patchwork of bandaids along fingers, treating each and every one to the softness of his lips.

“Well... first I need to cancel my date for tonight...”

The murmur of breath along his skin pulled the bright smile from him.

“There's this idiot I need to take care of instead.”

_That_ drew Clover's laugh to the surface, and he shook his head at the huntsman as he threaded fingers in between bandaids and fingers, turning his palm skywards, and brushing free fingertips along his wrist.

“Does it help if he says he's sorry?”

“It helps if he says he'll make it up to me later.”

His gentle words were punctuated by the soft press of lips to the inside of his wrist. Perhaps the only place on his arm aside from his elbow  _not_ covered in bandages. Clover felt the gentle warmth along skin as he smiled at his delicate ministrations.

Fingers skirted further up his arm, brushing along bandages, tracing his handiwork, knowing where each graze and cut and bruise lay beneath. Knowing the bruises would be worse in the morning.

“I think I can arrange that...” Clover murmured, and felt Qrow's smile against the inside of his forearm.

Green eyes followed the huntsman, and he found he couldn't keep the faint smile from his lips. At the very least, he'd lost his anger from before, and Clover was glad it had fizzled out to nothingness.

Almost as if...

The brunet felt something in his chest ache at the soft realisation of what it was that Qrow was actually doing, and he felt his breath still. Far removed from showing him simple affection as his anger burned itself out, Clover felt his brow furrow as gentle kisses were skirting along each and every graze and cut and bruise that lay beneath.

The warm smile slipped from his expression and his heart twisted at the sight of Qrow lingering upon skin, offering his silent apologies to each mark on his body.

Each one his luck had wrought.

Lips pressed into a thin line as the huntsman drew lips along the curve of a bicep, still delicately holding his hand so as not to hurt him further. Clover knew that Qrow would never be able to keep himself from thinking such mistakes were his own; it was a  _mistake_ in the heat of battle, and Qrow had  _been there_ . He didn't need any further proof than that.

Qrow knew his semblance was a curse to those around him; it was something ingrained upon him, in much the same way as lips that scored their apologies upon skin.

Clover squeezed his fingers about the ones tangled with his, drawing their hands down as lips reached his shoulder. A tender kiss lingered there, and Clover felt the breath of a sigh as the huntsman stilled against him. The brunet slipped his hand gently past the curve of his waist, settling at the small of his back and holding him in place.

Letting him breathe his silent apologies.

Clover felt the shift of fingers drifting across his stomach, a hand curling about him to simply hold him closer. Needing to feel him there. Needing to feel his warmth. Needing to know he wasn't going anywhere.

He leant forward slightly, letting his own lips brush along the curve of an ear.

It was like a soft draw of forgotten breath for the huntsman, and he lifted red eyes up to him. The unspoken ache that lay beneath their surface was almost enough to break Clover's heart; he parted his lips, wanting only to brush the sight away with his words, but finding only fickle sand upon his tongue.

Instead, he let the faint splinter of a smile settle across his lips, and he drew his hand away from the gentle hold he had upon him. Trailed it upwards, and paused atop the huntsman's heart, letting him feel the warmth of it. He leant forward, a featherlight kiss lingering on his forehead, wanting only to feel the furrow of that brow disappear.

“... I know... it's not the last time...”

The whisper of words was almost lost to him, despite how close he was, and green eyes closed at their tone. At how vulnerable they sounded.

How scared they were.

Clover felt fingers curl at his back, and brows pinch beneath his lips.

“I just... don't want it to _be_ the last time...”

The operative drew back just enough to untangle fingers from Qrow's hand, pulling him gently into a proper embrace, encircling his arms about him, regardless of how much the movement pulled at torn and bandaged skin. It didn't matter a whit to him, and he would hold him as close and as tight as his body allowed, and only then would he draw him closer.

Green eyes closed, feeling the huntsman's hands curl further about his waist, leaning into the reassuring hold the man had on him. He knew he couldn't promise him that there would be no more silly stunts; that there would be no more relying on luck or fortune to see them through. It wasn't how either of them worked, and they both knew it.

When something like that was so ingrained upon a person, it took more than a mere promise to shatter it.

He felt the shaky sigh of breath against his neck, lips grazing skin. Clover felt the huntsman's shoulders tremor slightly from within his embrace, and for a moment his heart ached.

The soft brush of quiet laughter gently lapped at his skin, and he felt his own breath return to him.

“... worse than the rest of my family, I swear...”

The simple words had him returning the gentle laugh, and he squeezed him firmly; the tension in his chest unravelling slowly.

“And you wonder where Ruby gets her crazy tendencies from...”

Clover felt the smile against his skin, lips grazing up to his jaw, and he saw the first sparkle of amusement in those red eyes. Qrow drew back faintly, that warm smile delicately lining his expression as he nuzzled the man gently.

“Well... she learnt from the best...” he told him simply, sounding almost proud of the fact.

The operative smiled against the warmth that hovered above his lips.

“And _one_ of these days, I'm finally going to meet the famous Taiyang.”

_That_ threw the huntsman entirely off-kilter, and he couldn't stop the snuffle of amusement that spilled from him, pinching across his brow as his lips broke into a brighter smile altogether. Clover wanted to bask in the sight for the rest of his days. Even if it wasn't perfect, it was better, and that's all he ever wanted for the huntsman.

He was more than honoured that he was allowed to be making such a difference in his world.

“I think I'm actually insulted,” Qrow told him in mock offence, still wearing the warmth of his smile. The operative laughed gently at him, withdrawing an arm to gently reach up and tuck a loose lock of dark hair behind an ear.

“What, you _want_ to be chief trouble maker in the family?”

The huntsman gave a light snort at that.

“No,” he told him bluntly. Qrow leant forward, smiling delicately against those lips. “I think that honour's all yours for now.”

Clover allowed the gentle noise of thought slip from him, letting the backs of fingers brush faintly across the curve of his cheek.

“I can live with that...”

Qrow leaned into the warmth of his hand, red eyes closing for a heartbeat as he savoured the feeling. He let himself drift into the realisation that Clover was here. Feeling sorry for himself and ridiculously sore, but he was utterly safe and holding him so firm.

The sigh slipped from him as he brought their lips together, taking simple contentment from the way the man's warmth enveloped him entirely. He felt fingers curl about the column of his neck, threading further back into dark hair and twining gently through their silken feel.

Red eyes fluttered open, and he drew faintly away from the man, nuzzling him as the ache in his chest began to unwind ever so delicately.

“... you damn well better...”


End file.
